


Behind Enemy Lines

by Draco_sollicitus



Series: Short but Sometimes Sweet: Damerey Collection [12]
Category: Star Wars, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens, Star Wars Episode VIII: The Last Jedi, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst, F/M, False Identity, Fluff, Peasant Rey, Prince Poe, Royalty AU, flangst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2019-05-05 16:01:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14622141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Draco_sollicitus/pseuds/Draco_sollicitus
Summary: One day, Rey of Jakku finds a wounded soldier in the river while she gathers food; unable to turn her back on a person in need, she takes him back to her cottage to help him heal. Upon discovering that he is a soldier of Alderaan, the bitter enemy of her kingdom, she vows to keep his secret.Little does she know, but the handsome man she saved has a secret that he keeps from her: he is not a common soldier, but the prince of Alderaan, adopted son of Queen Organa.





	1. Meetings and Omissions

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to rxn, who had the idea for this lovely fic and has dealt with me screaming about this for days now.
> 
>  
> 
> Warnings: brief descriptions of injuries, fighting, and maybe a cliffhanger, oops.  
> Also, Rey references the threats to her person as a single woman living alone

A tall man dismounts from his horse and scans the battlefield, wildly. To his right, a lieutenant staggers to his feet and attempts to bow.

“No need for that, man,” the large soldier snaps. “Have you seen the prince?”

The lieutenant stares in horror at him and does not reply. Sighing, he rips his helmet off and shakes his long, brown hair free. His face is reddened from the speed and hardness of his ride, but still a distinctive collection of moles stands out on his skin.

“The younger prince,” he demands. “As your future King, I command you to tell me where the prince is.”

Prince Ben of Alderaan is not a patient man, a fact commonly known throughout the five realms. Perhaps this knowledge is what inspires the lieutenant to move past his paralyzing terror and mortal wounds to raise a shaking hand and point to the edge of the field.

Cursing, Ben storms to where he indicated. “Where are you, little brother?” He mutters. “It would not do well for you to make our mother fret.” He stumbles to a halt.

Because he must.

His feet have led him to the side of a cliff, a river coursing some forty feet below. There is no sign of horse or rider.

“No,” Ben says, tripping backwards. “No, you – you were wrong.” He spins on his heel and jabs his finger accusingly at the lieutenant. “You _lied.”_ The lieutenant has collapsed from the stress of his injuries once more, and has slumped, grey-faced, against the remains of a wagon.

Ben scans the bottom of the ravine, wildly. There is no body, but there might not be, not for miles. “No,” he whispers. His fist clenches and unclenches around his sword, a jagged massive weapon meant to inspire fear in the hearts of his enemies.

But this fear – this is much worse.

He kicks a nearby helmet and it sails dozens of feet away, and he screams for his brother, screams that go unheard by any not dying or already dead.

_“Poe!”_

***

Rey trips along the riverside, her feet finding decent lodgment amongst the stones while she balances a basket on her hip for the fish she spears.

She hums to herself, barely audible over the rush of water, and she splashes into the shallow bank momentarily to pull up a tuber to accompany her meal. A small brown cap rests on her head, hiding her bound hair, and she wears the tunic and breeches of a small man (which she stole from a laundry line, but she had left coins underneath, and food). None come to this stretch of the river, typically, and her wagon is nearby, with her horse waiting slightly impatiently for her.

“Just another moment, Teedoo,” Rey calls. The horses huffs in irritation, and Rey playfully sticks her tongue out at him. “You’ve no respect for anyone,” she says. “Beast.”

The river is calm today; she had not risked coming here yesterday, so soon after the ferocious rains that occurred upstream. Rapid floods were not uncommon for the full day after such torrential downpours, and Rey did not wish to risk her wagon being caught up in whatever debris and depth of water that would wash this way.

Now, the river returns to normalcy, and Rey can almost hear herself hum over its babbling. All is as it should be, with the birds singing, and the wind whistling, and a man groaning–

Rey stiffens quickly. Another groan sounds, from around the small bend in the river. She sets her basket down carefully on the bank, and hefts her spear higher in her hand. She approaches the reed, and then her breath catches in her throat.

A man, covered in blood, half-lies in the water. He wears armor, but the crest is –

It’s not of Jakku.

Rey had heard of the fearsome battle leagues away, but she rarely bothers herself with news of the outside world. The battle of surviving each day is fearsome enough without adding in the economic and political struggles of wealthy men and women she’ll never meet or care about.

This man, though, is close to death. He already be dead. Rey taps his breastplate curiously, and she startles back when he groans.

“Help,” he gasps, and then mutters something else in a foreign language. His brown eyes lock onto hers, and she is struck by their beauty before they slide shut again. Rey stares at his now slackened face and the undeniable heave of his chest. This man is alive, and clearly a fighter who has no one else to help him. Rey knows the feeling all too well. Still.

“Damn.”

**

Poe weaves in and out of consciousness after his horse falls over the cliff.

He cries out for Betelgeuse, but the horse is swept away from him in the current, and he is dragged back under.

His ribs scream in protest as he’s pulled along the riverbed, and then back up to the surface where he coughs and tries to swim. His arms feel like lead, and he is exhausted just by breathing. His thigh burns where the steel of an enemy’s blade had caught, and he knows his back is most likely bruised, and the majority of his body.

Eventually, he comes to a stop, or perhaps he is just beginning the transition from life to death. He did not think Purgatory would be this painful; darkness overtakes him time and again, but he cannot move. He is left staring at the sky, broken by trees, unable to move from his constricting armor and various injuries.

An infection must have set on the cut on his leg, for Poe recognizes the start of a fever once when he awakes.

He even hallucinates.

A beautiful nymph, with a lovely, freckled face, looks down at him in confusion. He begs her for help, or death – he is not sure which is preferable, now – and she moves towards him, either to pull him to Heaven, or drag him to a watery grave. Her hands are soft on his face, and that is all he knows before the darkness takes him again.

**

Rey manages to drag the man to the wagon, after she called her horse over as close as he could get. The man is heavier than she is, especially in armor, but she figures out how to lift him using driftwood and rocks, and a length of cloth she keeps in the back of her wagon. She throws his helmet and his colors -the ones that mark him as an enemy – back into the river, and then goes to cover him with a cloth.

Before she climbs back into the wagon, Rey spots a flash of silver in the reeds. Frowning, she walks to examine it; a beautiful silver ring, hanging on a fine chain, is caught on a blade of grass near where the man had been lying. She slides it free carefully, weighs the ring in her hand, and then puts the necklace on, hiding the ring in her tunic.

It is an hour ride back to her cottage, and she would like to be back before nightfall.

***

Somehow, she gets the man off the wagon and into her cottage, where she lays him out on her bed. She has a small mattress in the corner that she can sleep on, and she is nearer to the door there. If he wakes up and she discovers that he is trouble, she will be able to flee or fight much better in this position.

He does not wake though; he does not wake for almost six hours. In that time, Rey tentatively dresses the wound on his thigh, blushing furiously at the skin exposed by the slash on his pants.

It makes no sense that she blushes. He is near death, and a body is just a body. She has seen broken bodies; she helped a healer as an adolescent, and she had been quite good at it. Rey would have liked to be a healer, but she had to flee Plutt and her indentured status, and when the healer, Maz, had pressed a pouch of coins in her hand and told her to run, she had listened.

Now, a man lies close to death, and she is the only one who can help him. And she blushes like a child at the sight of his skin. It might have to do with his handsome countenance, and the fitness of his form. Rey cannot sleep, for fear or something else, and instead she sits on the cot and watches him until he gasps awake.

Carrying a candle over to him, she sits on the edge of the bed.

“You are safe,” she whispers. Rey clears her throat. They are the only two here, she need not whisper. “I do not mean you any harm.”

He nods, and she offers him a mug filled with fresh water from her well. “Do you think you could sit up?” He shakes his head, and Rey smiles sympathetically before dabbing a cloth into the water and holding it to his lips. The man drinks that way for several minutes, and he looks slightly less ashen when he lies back on the pillows.

“What is your name, sire?” Rey asks curiously, staring into the handsome face of the man she pulled from the riverside.

“Poe,” he rasps. His face contorts in something like pain. “Please, is this – is this Alderaan or Jakku?”

“Jakku,” Rey answers, noting the visible wince on his face. “Regretfully.”

“And you – you know that I am a soldier of Alderaan?” Poe asks, warily. His hand gropes at his side, for his sword, she realizes. The sword she has wrapped carefully in the corner of the cottage, closer to her mattress than his.

“Yes,” Rey says. She holds out a steadying hand to indicate how little of a threat she is, holding it gently over his body. “I do not care. I have no allegiance to Jakku, nor do I care for its war with Alderaan. What kind of name is Poe?” She asks, to change the subject. Rey tugs at the side of his breastplate, and he moves his arms so she can begin to remove his outer layers.

Poe clears his throat and smiles, a pleasant smile despite the blood on his teeth. “My brother could not say my name when we were children, so he called me that. It stuck.” There’s the sound of his gasping breath – Rey goes back to her task of untying the binds of his armor – and then he says, “What, pray tell, is your name, fair maiden?”

Rey looks around, mockingly. “I do not see a fair maiden anywhere nearby, sire,” she smirks, finally getting his breastplate free. He gasps in pain when she lifts it off of him. Broken ribs, then. “But I am called Rey.”

“Rey.” He smiles at her. “Rey, like a glorious beam of the sun. I like it; it rather suits you.”

“You talk very prettily for a common soldier,” Rey laughs, and Poe stiffens.

Then, he visibly relaxes. “And you are very pretty, for a supposedly unfair maiden.”

**

The nymph, Rey, takes gentle care of him in the hours after their introductions. It is late, he knows, the room pitch black outside the candle. But her hands are gentle, and her eyes kind - belying the strength and intensity suggested by her posture and the set of her jaw – and he feels a good deal comforted as he drifts off once again, free of his armor, wearing only his shirt and breeches.

The next day is difficult. He wakes up sweating, but so cold, and Rey wipes his forehead with a cool cloth, insisting that he burns with fever.

“Then why am I cold?” He asks, confused, before he’s overtaken by the delirium.

Rey morphs once more into a nymph, and then into a faery goddess, and she is always benevolent with him, a vassal wretch. He knows not the number of hours he waits with Death, but Rey sits by him the whole time, washing him, feeding him, changing him, soothing him.

He does not deserve it.

At one point, he sees Shara, his mother, over her shoulder. He cries out for her, reaching past Rey, and Rey takes his hand and holds it to her heart.

“There is no one here but you and me,” she says softly, and when Poe looks again, Shara has faded away. “No one here, Poe. I am sorry, but I am not who you want.” Blackness rolls across his vision like a cruel wave.

When his eyes open once more, his fever has broken, and Rey smiles wearily at him from her seat at the side of the bed.

“Good to see you again, Poe,” she says warmly. “It was a very worrisome few days.”

“Days?” He feels weaker than a lamb, but he tries to sit up, desperately wishing to demonstrate to this beautiful woman that he has some use.

Rey rushes forward and puts a small, warm hand on his chest to push him back down. “Sh,” she says kindly. “Sh, Poe. Just lie back down, do not exert yourself. Your ribs are broken on the left side, and you suffered several less threatening but still painful looking injuries to your person. When coupled with that nasty cut on your leg, I fear that you have several long weeks, if not months of recovery ahead of you, in this bed.”

“No! I shall leave at daybreak,” Poe says firmly. “I cannot stay here: my presence threatens you, Rey.”

“Don’t be silly,” Rey laughs, and Poe is momentarily distracted from his terror for her safety by the way the sound lights the room. “No one’s going to look for a soldier, Poe. Many died in that battle, and the men of Jakku are just as beat up and exhausted as you are, I’d wager. No, no one comes looking for the scavenger of Niima, and by now, they know better than to disturb her peace.”

Rey nods her head at a fearsome spear, and a sharp sword in the corner and winks at him. “So don’t get any funny ideas, sir.”

She gets up to make a kettle of tea, and Poe stares at her in wonder, this brave woman who lives by herself, seems no stranger to threats to her life, and is risking everything to help a man she does not know.

He hopes he deserves it.

**

Ten days after Poe dropped into her life, Rey has found a strange rhythm with the funny, handsome man. She has grown accustomed to seeing him when she wakes in the morning, and she smiles when he dozes off after dinner – he has been able to sit up to sip at his broth the last few days – too tired to stay awake, often falling into slumber mid-sentence.

He rests now, two hours before sundown, and Rey walks outside to collect her laundry and his, drying on a line.

Her heart stalls in her chest when she sees what waits for her.

A tall man wearing a formidable helmet and armor stands in her yard, his hand on a broadsword.

“Good evening, sir,” she says cautiously, hand itching towards the weapon she wears at her hip.

“Good evening. Have you seen anything strange today?” He asks. She cannot see his face, but she can feel his gaze burn through the metal of his helmet.

“Strange?” Rey asks, her heart remembering to beat now, and it pounds in her chest at a speed that promises to rip through bone and skin. “I did not see anything out of the ordinary, sir.”

“Not a thing. I should clarify. Have you seen a man come by here?” He demands. “An injured man, with dark hair and complexion? Have you seen him or heard of him?”

“Have you any idea what time it is?” Rey counters, allowing her irritation to color her voice, and not her terror. “I do not concern myself with strange men, especially so close to the night time.”

“The man could be dangerous; if I said he was, would you reject my offer as a gentleman to help keep him away from you?” He asks, amused.

“I do not have any concern for injured men – if he is injured as you say – and I can handle myself, I thank you. I have nothing to hide, nor do I have any wish to continue this conversation.”

Ignoring her, the man begins to walk forward. “If you do not have anything to hide, than you cannot protest my coming in.”

“I live alone,” Rey snaps. “I think you will understand if you are – as you say – a gentleman, that it would be wrong for me to let you into my home. I am prepared to defend myself, regardless.”

She pulls out the sword, the gift of Lor San Tekka, and holds it in front of her body, her feet set to fight.

The man cocks his head at her, and considers something. “You are an impressive creature, I’ll give you that.” He laughs, but not cruelly. “If you do hear word of an injured man in these parts, or if you come across him tell him – tell him Kylo looks for him.”

Rey wrinkles her nose in confusion, but the man mounts his horse and rides off after bowing perhaps a little too deeply to be serious in her direction.

 _Kylo? As in Kylo Ren?_ The fairy prince of children’s stories, the one who steals away maidens and young boys in the night to train as soldiers in his cruel army?

She will certainly not be telling Poe that a man wearing hideous armor and bearing the name of a childhood phantom was looking for him. It would not be conducive to his healing.

**

Rey sits peeling potatoes for their supper in the corner of the one room cottage.

Poe has begun to stand again, and Rey helps him walk unsteadily. He has been healing for three weeks with Rey as his patient caretaker, and he knows he owes her a powerful debt.

He feels something for her besides gratitude, but he cannot address that now.

Outside, her horse whinnies, and Rey cocks her head and smiles at the sound.

“Do you like your horse?” Poe asks, a throb in his heart at the question.

“I do,” Rey says. “He is useful, and very funny, and often I consider him my only friend in the world. I also love to ride, the freedom of it.” She smiles softly, eyes downcast. “There is nothing like it in the world.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Poe beams at her, which she doesn’t see. He forces himself to sit upright, back resting against the wall behind her bed, the bed she’s been so kind to give to him while he heals. Poe hates the idea of a woman going without comfort just to increase his own, but she’d smacked him when he’d tried to switch with her a few days ago, and he is still too weak to defend himself against her righteous indignation. “I love to ride horseback, and I trained for many years.” Then, softly, he says the thing that he worries about when his thoughts are not locked entirely on survival and Rey: “I fear that my horse was lost when I fell.”

“An uncommon soldier, to worry about his horse,” Rey comments aloud, not pausing in her peeling. “Although I suppose it will be expensive to replace?”

“I could never replace him,” Poe shakes his head, stomach aching. “Betelgeuse was the perfect horse, and our bond was years in the making. He knew my moods, I knew his. He was like family to me.”

Rey looks up from the potatoes at that. She looks at him with an inscrutable expression in her eyes, before it transforms into undeniable compassion. “I am very sorry for your loss, Poe.”

“Thank you.”

**

Rey comes back in with the water for the day, and she pauses inside the doorway.

Poe leans against the wall behind his cot, his eyes closed, and he sings in a language Rey does not recognize. It is not the tongue common to Jakku or Alderaan, nor is it Alderaan’s secondary language. The melody is sad, even if Rey cannot understand the words, and she watches quietly as he sings for another minute.

“That was beautiful,” she says, hesitantly, into the following silence. “I did not know you could sing like that.”

Poe does not open his eyes, but he does smile. “Thank you, sunbeam.” Rey is glad for his closed eyes, for she blushes at the name. He has lived with her for four weeks now, but she is still unaccustomed to his freeness with affection, and his typically cheerful humor. He is not exactly joyous – he is humorous, and kind, and thoughtful, even when he is in deep amounts of pain. There is a depth to this man, Rey decides, but it is the kind of depth that does not hide secret dangers. He is clear to the bottom, like the great lake five leagues west; deep, and calm, and begging to be explored.

She feels her ears heat as she thinks about explorations; it is highly improper, after all, for her to imagine the ways she _could_ explore him. Rey wonders at her wishing to know him in that way; she has never felt the urge to be close to a man before.

“What language was that?” She asks curiously, setting one bucket of water down near the fireplace, busying herself to distraction from her previous thoughts.

“The language of my mother,” he says. His eyes open now, and in a way that hurts her hurt, Poe looks truly miserable, a strange expression on his handsome face. “My mother was of Yavin, and she was murdered when I was very young.”

Rey sits down next to him on the cot and smiles at him. “I am sorry to hear that, Poe,” she says. Then, she gives him a part of herself, in return. “I did not really know my mother. She and my father – they did not want me.” She stares at her lap. “I was sold into slavery when I was five.”

His hand covers both of hers, suddenly, and when she looks at him, his eyes are shadowed with concern. “They were fools,” he states, firmly. “They were fools not to want you.”

“What was your mother like?” Rey asks, for fear she might cry if they continue to discuss her childhood. 

“Her name was Shara, and she was beautiful, and kind, and very strong. She wanted to be a soldier, and she was a talented horseback rider.” He smiles at Rey, eyes already less shadowed. “She would have liked you, I think.”

“I would have liked to have met her,” Rey says, and he squeezes her hands one more time. “Did she teach you that song, then?”

“Yes,” Poe smiles, sadly. “I do not have many memories of her, but I do have that song. I was – encouraged not to speak in Yavinese as a child.”

“Will you teach me some words?” Rey asks, smiling at him. “I – I would like to learn.”

“ _S_ _í_ ,” Poe smiles at her. “That means _yes_.”

He teaches her the word for bed, and window, and flower (he insisted that it was _Rey_ for almost fifteen seconds before she poked him in the uninjured side and demanded the truth). Poe teaches her how to say “How are you,” and “when do you want to eat” (He’d thrown his head back laughing, the lines of his throat as fascinating as ever, when she’d insisted that this was the most important phrase to know in any language), and then he taught her various phrases about asking for help, directions, water, shelter.

Rey feels tired after supper, and she says, “Gracias,” to Poe for cooking, and he smiles at her winningly. She curls up on the cot across from the bed, and she hums low in her throat when he tells her goodnight.

“Buenas...noches!” She remembers triumphantly, eyes already shut, knees curled up to her stomach, hands under her chin.

“Cada vez, te quiero más,” He responds. Rey is asleep before she can ask the meaning; but, she has a feeling it is important.

She dreams of lakes, and she relaxes, sinks clear to the bottom before she remembers she cannot swim.

***

Poe aches for Rey, daily.

He cannot tell her the truth of who he is; not when he is still far from fully recovered. She would not cast him out, he knows. But his identity is a danger to her, and she is protected by his omission. Still, though, he knows part of the reason for his secrecy is the knowledge that Rey's smiles, her laughter, and her kindness are for Poe, and not a prince. She smiles at him because she likes his company, and not his title. She sees him as a human, and not royalty, and this treasure is something he never could have dreamed of experiencing. Leia and Han have been kind to him his entire life, but there has always been a slight distance between them. Any courting he has done has been route, disinterested. Any chasing of skirts obligatory, empty. Poe has not truly felt anything in years; now, he feels everything. 

It has become a torment. Rey helps him, and sits with him, and asks him questions, and speaks to him in halting Yavinese, and she smiles at him as if he’d given her a great gift whenever he teaches her a new phrase. She tells him things of such gravity, such importance. She tells him of the cruelty she knew as a child, the fear that dictated her life; she tells him how she escaped. In turn, Poe tells her about his brother, who is funnier and smarter than he could ever hope to be, and he tells her of his quiet wish to raise horses in the countryside, a dream that can never be realized. Rey holds his hand after he admits that, and tells him, "You can do anything you wish, Poe, you must know that." Rey is the most perfect person he has ever met, and the conversations he has with her are the most important of his life, he knows.

And he loves her more, every day, just as he told her in his native tongue.

One rainy day after supper, he leans against the wall near the door while Rey clears various objects from the floor. He watches her dance across the room, seemingly unaware of the grace of her movements, and his hand goes instinctually to the place where his mother’s ring used to hang. Finding it missing, he groans in his throat involuntarily, and he hangs his head in grief.

“Are you hurt?” Rey is at his side at once. The rain beats against the roof of the cottage, and he looks to her in misery, the feeling in his heart echoed by the weather outside.

“No, sunbeam,” he smiles at her wearily. “No, I am not hurt.”

“Then what ever is the matter?” Rey is so beautiful, and so kind, so he tells her the truth.

“When I fell in battle, I lost something precious.” Poe licks his bottom lip and forces himself to continue. “My mother’s ring. It is gone forever.”

“Was it silver?” Rey asks, cheeks pink.

“Aye,” Poe nods, and he looks at her strangely.

“Is this it?” Rey fumbles at the neckline of her tunic before pulling out a thin chain, one he knows well, for it houses – Shara’s ring.

He stares at it in shock, and Rey lifts it over her head. “I am sorry,” she whispers. “I found it near your body the day I discovered you, and I did not want it to get lost. It seemed too beautiful to lose.” Rey holds it aloft, and it catches on the low light coming from outside. “I am sorry, Poe.”

“Don’t be sorry.” Poe shakes his head, frantically, and he wraps his hand around hers, the hand that holds his mother’s ring. “Thank you, my sunbeam. Thank you.”

She smiles at him, and he kisses her.

Poe kisses her, and the rain falls outside the doorway, and he feels alive for the first time in a decade. Rey tastes like their supper, and of the scent of green things, and somehow, impossibly, of sunlight.

She sighs, softly, into his mouth, and Poe moves to frame her face with his hands. How has she survived out here, how has she survived and remained so _soft_? Her skin feels like rose petals beneath his own, and he regrets that he is not worthy enough to touch it. He lifts away from her mouth momentarily to do what he has wished to do since he first opened his eyes after the fever broke and saw her in this cottage; Poe kisses the constellation of freckles on her cheeks, his thumb reaching up to stroke all the ones he cannot cover with his lips.

“Rey,” He murmurs. “Rey, my sun.”

“Poe,” she answers, kissing him in response. “If I am the sun, are you my moon?

He considers this for a spell. “Yes,” he nods, his forehead leaned against hers. “Yes, my sunbeam, I am your moon. Any light I have is because of you, after all.”

***

She and Poe kiss lazily for the rest of the day, and Rey sighs louder each time. She would be embarrassed, if his lips did not feel quite so wonderful upon her own lips. Or upon her jaw. Or her neck. Or.

Poe is far more determined to keep their interactions chaste, especially after he learns that he has claimed her first kiss.

“You honor me,” he breathes, kissing her behind her jaw, under her ear. Rey gasps and arches into the contact, previously unaware that such a small place on her body, seemingly an innocent place, could inspire such a passionate feeling inside of her. “You are the most beautiful, perfect, wonderful person on this earth, sunbeam, and you honor me.”

“You talk too much,” Rey scolds before pulling his head back to kiss him again.

The next few days pass in similar bliss, and Rey takes pleasure in waking slightly earlier than normal to crack her eye open and study Poe as he stands from the bed and stretches, the gleam of silver on his chest an enchanting contrast to his golden skin. She did not know men from Alderaan were quite so tan – but it makes sense, if his mother was of Yavin.

The next few days pass in bliss, and Rey should have known it could not last.

Poe is resting – he still cannot hold a sword or stand for more than twenty minutes, but he does better each day - some six weeks after he entered her life, when Rey hears a commotion on the road. She closes the door behind her carefully and walks several paces outside the cottage.

A group of three men wearing the armor of Jakku’s finest general thunder up the lane. They circle her yard and dismount, and Rey prays that Poe has the good sense to stay inside and out of sight.

“Can I help you gentlemen?” Rey asks, regretting her decision to wear her dress today. She had worn it out of sheer vanity – she enjoyed the way Poe’s eyes lit up when he saw her in it the first time. She also enjoys the ease with which she can clamber in his lap (carefully, always carefully) to kiss him, fully in control of their movements.

She regrets the dress, now.

“Hello, little lady,” the man nearest to her says. “We’ve come to greet your guest.”

“My guest?” Rey asks, playing the fool. She bats her eyelashes at them. “I do not have a guest, sir.”

“Don’t play coy, girl,” he snaps. The other two men close ranks with him, and they stand in a triad in front of her. “Your guest, the man who lies in your cottage, doubtlessly in your bed,” Rey does not blush. She is too enraged. “The man of Alderaan whom you’ve been harboring for who knows how long, according to our reliable sources.”

 _Sources?_ This is why Rey does not talk to her neighbors. Busybodies. “You have no business here,” Rey says coldly. “And I must ask you to leave.”

“We’ll leave, once we’ve collected our royal ransom,” the second man says, and the other two reach for their weapons. “There’s no need for you to get in the way of that, miss.”

“Royal ransom?” Rey wrinkles her nose in confusion.

“You harbor the prince of Alderaan, girl,” the first man speaks again. “You hide a powerful enemy of Jakku in your home; you have been opening your legs for a wanted man. There is no need for you to share his fate, so stand aside.”

 _What?_ Rey’s mind reels, but she cannot spare the thought to this revelation yet, not when they advance towards her threateningly. “This is your last chance to leave,” she warns. The men draw their weapons as one, and Rey pulls Tekka’s sword.

Steel clashes on steel, the metal catching in the light. “There’s no way you’ll win, girlie,” one man snarls, but Rey is too busy kicking his friend in the knee to respond. She spins around her adversaries, the burn in her muscles reminiscent of her time training, her years of training under Tekka and other rebellious men who did not mind seeing a girl with a blade in her hand.

The first man falls after she cuts him through the belly. Another man catches her with the flat of his blade, and she grunts in pain before electing to ignore what will most likely be a discomfort tomorrow.

They land a few slashes to her arms, but Rey does not care. Adrenaline carries her, she is the blade, the blade is her, she trained for this, she is not a damsel, she is –

“Rey!” Poe’s panicked voice cuts through the yard, and Rey makes the mistake of looking over her shoulder at him. He is grey-faced, leaning in the doorway of her home, his necklace shining in the sunlight, his shirt still unfastened. “Where is my sword?”

Rey rolls her eyes at him. “Go back to bed!” The man still in front of her takes advantage and lunges forward, and Rey stumbles back. She raises her blade to him, and executes a difficult maneuver, one she hasn’t tried on anything but a tree in years, and the man falls, her sword catching him first on the inner thigh, and then in the neck. The last man falls shortly after that – Rey brings the hilt of her sword down on his head, taking advantage of her height and his own stupid attempt to duck down and change his center of gravity.

Her blade clatters from her hand, blood running in the yard.

She has not killed for years; remembering the first man’s taunts, she realizes that she knows nothing of the man she killed for.

What has she done?

Rey stumbles towards her cottage, and walks past Poe. She stands, chest heaving, in her home, blood staining her arms and hands. She cannot tell what is hers and what is theirs. She has killed men today. And for what? For whom? “I am a fool,” Rey breathes, gripping the doorframe and staring at the bodies of the slain men in her courtyard.

“Where did you learn to fight like that?” Poe asks dazedly at her side. Not Poe.

Paolo, the stolen prince of Yavin.

“You will forgive me if I do not answer you, Your Highness,” Rey bites out. Poe looks at her, startled, his face changing colors quickly, from ashen to red, to paler than death.

“What?” He asks weakly. “Rey, I –”

“You lied.” Rey whispers, still staring at the bodies. She forces herself to blink and walks back into the cottage.

“I didn’t lie,” Poe protests. And Rey, who had been numb since she first drew blood, knows what emotion she possesses: anger.

“When did you decide to lie to me? To hide who you were? To hide that you were the son of the kingdom determined to destroy my own?”

“They are not my parents,” Poe protests bitterly. “They are my family, yes, but I am not their son, not really. I am an unwanted extra in their home, they took me in out of pity.”

“Pity? Is that what you call luxry? Oh, poor prince, to have had two families who loved you.”

“It’s not that simple,” Poe spits through gritted teeth.

“Yes it is.” Rey stomps her foot in frustration. “You were a Yavinese princeling, taken in by the royal house of Alderaan, raised in the lap of luxury.”

“You mean I was raised by the daughter of the man who killed my parents,” Poe yells, jabbing his finger at her.

“Did they sell you?” Rey asks coldly. “Were you beaten? Starved? Threatened with bodily violation every day after you came of age?” Poe flinches backward, but she does not care. “I cannot believe I trusted you with such details of my life. You -you must have been laughing at me.”

“No,” Poe shakes his head, but Rey is too incensed to take note of it.

**

“Rey, _listen to me,_ ” Poe roars to be heard, but still she ignores him. She _rages_ at him, and Poe does not know how to remedy it. He knows better than to yell at a woman, but something about her stirs his blood.

 “You must have been laughing at the poor little peasant girl, waiting to bring your story back to your princely friends, waiting to tell them all about how you kissed a commoner – tell me, would you have relished in taking my virginity? In adding to your tale? – tell your friends how you made the little peasant rat think you were equals, that you _cared_ about her.” Poe feels like he has been struck in the face. _How can she – after all we have shared, these last weeks, how much I have grown to love her. Is it not apparent?_

“We are equals,” Poe says, hands outstretched. “I do think of you as an equal, Rey, you are more my equal than any woman I have ever met, and I care about you, God above, I do.”

“Do not lie to me,” she says, sharply.

“I do not lie,” Poe implores her, ready to fall to his knees to beg forgiveness if need be. “Please, Rey, listen to me.”

“I have had enough of your pretty words,” Rey dismisses his attempt coldly, and clutches her side, chest heaving in exertion, most likely a combination of the thrill of battle combined with the heat of their argument. Poe frowns at her, worried.

“I did not tell you of my royal status, but other than that, everything I told you was true.” Poe feels a tear forming in his eye, and he dashes it away. “Rey, I gave you parts of myself that no other even knows exist.”

“I cannot believe I will die for a foreign prince _and_ a liar.” Rey does not pay him any heed, merely staring out the window of her small house.

“What?” Poe clears his throat. “No, Rey, you said it yourself – I am doing much better, and I will be able to hold a sword within the week. If more men come, I am more than capable of fighting them off, and soon I will make the journey to Alderaan, and you will never have to see me again.” _Unless you would like to, unless you would like to come with me, wed me, live your life with me. You do not like it here; perhaps you will like my home more?_

“I will die for a man I do not even know,” Rey whispers, again.

“Rey, please look at me,” Poe begs her. “You know me better than anyone, I swear it.” Rey turns, and he sighs, relieved, at her obedience in this one instance, but his relief fades almost immediately.

Rey’s hand comes away from her side, stained in blood. “I will die for the prince of Alderaan,” she repeats, eyes wide. “I – Poe – Poe, why is it so cold?” She falls, then, crumpling like a piece of parchment, and Poe dives to catch her, ignoring the pull of his muscles over his still healing ribs. Rey is cold in his arms, but her brow is damp, and Poe puts a hand to the spreading red stain over her abdomen.

Rey was stabbed – stabbed through the side – for him, because of him, it is his fault. The woman he loves dies in his arms, and she will die thinking him a liar who does not care about her.


	2. Return and Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poe attempts to save Rey's life by bringing her to Alderaan; Rey awakens but does not wish to speak to him

Poe, after seemingly infinite moments of panic, remembers to move, and lifts Rey to carefully lay her upon her bed, the one he has been filling for weeks. After binding her torso as well as he can, the blood staining the cloth as soon as he wraps it, Poe breathes steadily to calm himself. He strokes a hand along her face and internally debates how best to get help for her. He cannot leave her here unattended, he knows, but if he brings the wagon, so she has somewhere to lie down, it might be an impediment for speed. Poe knows what must happen, and he prays that it will work.

 “I love you,” he whispers before he stands to go outside and tack the horse. “I love you, and you do not get to die, not until I have convinced you of that love.”

He has calculated, based on conversations with Rey, that she lives practically on the border of Alderaan. His family’s summer palace is another fifteen miles past the border; surely there will be staff there, someone he can beg for help. The ride will not be easy, not with both of their injuries, but he cannot leave her here unattended, and he cannot waste time.

Teedoo startles back when Poe storms up to him with the saddle in his hand. “I do not care if you hate me,” Poe snaps, already moving to prepare for their ride. “Or if you bite me, or throw me, but when she is on your back, you will behave, beast.” Teedoo tosses his head in irritation, and Poe experiences a moment of intense grief and loss for Betelgeuse, who had been a most accommodating creature. If only he were here.

Once the horse is ready to ride, Poe sweeps back into the cottage. He gathers her sword, and his own, and the small collection of belongings she holds dear: a handmade doll, a small metal toy, and a single book. He ties them all carefully and straps the bundle to his back, his own sword returning to its sheath. He leaves his armor; he has his ring, and he has Rey. There is nothing else he values in comparison.

Walking to the bed, Poe gathers Rey up in his arms. Her face is paler than the moon (and doesn’t she know that she’s the sun? What does the moon do when the sun goes out?), and even in his injured state, Poe picks her up easily.

He remembers, with the full force of guilt, that she’s been feeding him for more than a month, he’s been using her bed and taking her resources and wasting her time for more than a month. She did so much for him under the pretense that he was helpless; and truthfully, he was. This last week has seen the return of what he considers to be more of his normal state, but it does not forgive the lie he told her – well, not told. The truth he omitted, he supposes. Poe is not of her class, and now she believes him not to be in earnest over what transpired between them.

Rey has clearly lost weight since he came here, and now she is light in his arms, and the guilt is heavy in his heart. Poe swears to the entire multitude of gods, pagan or otherwise, that he will see her well-fed and happy, cared-for the rest of her days, if only she survives this. She will survive this. She must.

Somehow he gets them both on the horse, and he spurs the creature into a gallop. The next hours pass in torment, as he tries to ride quickly through the countryside, while using the stars beginning to twinkle to life above him for guidance towards his summer home.

Thankfully, he is a trained navigator, and greatly enjoyed studying star maps and maps of Jakku and Alderaan while he was growing up; but, even with his confident directional sense, he still despairs at reaching help in time.

Frequently, Rey’s head lolls back and rests on his shoulder, and she stirs more than once.

Once, she even speaks. “Poe?” She mumbles.

“Do not worry, Rey,” Poe says, desperately. “We are already in Alderaan, we shall reach help shortly. Please, please do not leave me.”

“Poe,” Rey whispers. “Do I have to call you Your Highness now?”

“No,” Poe shakes his head frantically, keeping on hand on the reins to maintain the hard trot while his other wraps tighter around her body, pulling her further into him. Her skin is clammy when he buries his face in her neck briefly, unwilling to take his eyes off the road more than necessary. “No, my precious sunbeam, no – you will always call me Poe.”

“Poe,” Rey says, her breath quickening, most likely in agony. “It hurts—” She fades away again, and Poe begs her to stay with him, begs her even though she cannot hear him.

They reach the palace three hours after nightfall. There are a surprising number of lights on in the palace, even though it is almost autumn, and the war rages not twenty miles from here. Poe cannot wonder at it as he dismounts, pulling Rey carefully down with him. His entire body screams in protest, as he was not ready for such exertion so soon after his injuries. But Rey still has a pulse when he feels for it, and it is surprisingly strong under his palm, despite the terrifying temperature of her skin.

“Your Highness?” A servant stumbles towards him. “Dear God? Prince Poe?” The man turns around and screams towards the doors. “Alert the queen at once – her son is here, and he is _alive_!”

“Get a doctor,” Poe gasps, clutching Rey to his body. Her skin burns so hotly he can feel it through his clothes. “And send him to my room. Now.”

“Your Highness, who is that—?” The man does not move, and Poe makes a note to return to him later and slap him.

“Get the fucking doctor!” Poe shouts, already running up the stairs to the doors. Rey shudders in his arms, shaking uncontrollably. “No, my angel, no,” he murmurs, frantically. “Hold on for just a while longer.” Ignoring the screaming pain of his poorly healed ribs, he crosses the front hall and sweeps upstairs to where his bedroom is.

Rey’s eyes flutter worryingly, and she begins to wake, a low moan of pain building in her throat. By now, he has reached his destination, and he kicks open his bedroom door, enters, and lays Rey out upon the blankets. He settles with his back to the window, facing the door, so he won’t be in the doctor’s way when he arrives.

“Poe!” Leia stands in the doorway before him, wearing a long nightgown and sheer exhaustion lining her face. She looks pale and frightened, but Poe barely looks up for more than a few seconds before he sits next to Rey and hovers his hands over the wound on her side. “Poe, honey – Is it really you?”

“Yes,” he pants, his hand on Rey’s forehead now. “Yes, I am here – please – send for the doctor.” Poe checks the beat of Rey’s heart at her slender neck, and he gasps anxiously when he feels how much it has slowed in the last few minutes. “Mama, send for the doctor.”

“Poe,” Leia walks in. “He has been sent for, per your request upon arrival, but – who is this woman?”

“Her name is Rey,” Poe chokes out, suddenly crying in the warm presence of his adopted mother. “She – she saved my life. Please do not die, sunbeam,” he begs the unconscious woman, cupping her cheek with his hand. “Please, Rey.” He looks back up at his mother. “Rey saved my life. I was stuck in Jakku, wounded, but this woman – she saved my life three separate times, Mama, and I fear she may die for the latest attempt.”

Leia opens her mouth to speak, but she is interrupted by the arrival of the doctor and a team of assistants. Poe is forced to sit up and away from her so the doctor can cut away Rey’s dress, and he averts his eyes, blushing. Leia does see that, and she smiles at him, amused but tender, and puts her small hand on his arm while they stand at the foot of the bed.

“You love her,” she says, idly, squeezing his arm.

“I know.”

***

The next few hours are agony, and at one point Rey’s heart stops. Then, the doctor does something very strange that has Poe choking in rage and lurching forward, but his father, who is now awake, stops him.

“No, son,” Han says gruffly. “No, he’s saving her.” The doctor continues to pound on Rey’s chest, and sure enough, a minute later, she gasps for breath once more, and Poe collapses in his parents’ arms, weeping.

At sunrise, she is declared stable enough, but requires monitoring.

“I’ll watch her,” Poe rasps, his throat beyond dry.

“You don’t have any training to heal,” Leia says, pulling him away from the bed. Poe plants his feet stubbornly, but Han puts his hand between his shoulder blades and pushes hard so he stumbles forward. “And you need to rest, and tell us your story. Come, you’ll be not even twenty feet away from her.” Poe is resistant, but he cannot disobey the queen, especially not when exhaustion is forcing the corners of his vision to cut out.

He collapses onto the bed in the room across the hall, and he sleeps, heavily, for most of the day. When he wakes, the doctor comes in to check him, as well, and Poe is ordered to rest for at least two days.

“Push my bed in her room,” Poe snaps. “Now.”

“Mhm,” the doctor stands to leave.

“I am your prince!” Poe says mulishly. “And I command you!” Poe has not commanded anything in his life outside the battlefield; he’s always been hesitant to wield the authority given to him as a member of the royal family. He does not mind so much now for the imposing nature of his status.

“The queen commanded me to force you to rest,” the doctor says lightly before leaving. “And I find her a little more terrifying than you.”

Poe scowls and moves to leave the bed, but Leia sweeps in with Han and Ben, and they all fuss over him at length. Poe tells them his story as fully as he can, but his mind keeps returning to Rey.

“We owe her an impossible debt,” Leia murmurs, picking up his hand and kissing it when he finishes his tale. “To defend your life, and sacrifice her safety, after all she had already done. It is too much.”

“You should make her a knight,” Ben says, thoughtfully. Poe stares at him, and Han laughs and claps his son’s shoulder.

“I think that’s the first good idea you’ve had in years, kid.”

Ben rolls his eyes at his father’s joke, but he still reaches across the bed to take Poe’s hand, the one not already held by Leia. “I missed you,” he says, voice thick. “You scared me. Ass.”

“Sorry,” Poe says, closing his eyes and groaning. “What can I say? I like to make a dramatic entrance.”

“Oh, please,” Lea snorts. “You didn’t get to meet your grandfather, but trust me. Somehow, you coming back from the dead, screaming on a stolen horse with a dying woman in your arms in the middle of the night, was _not_ the most dramatic thing that has ever happened in this castle.”

Poe falls asleep shortly after that, Leia stroking his hair, having curled up in the bed next to him. Han and Ben remain vigilant guards while he rests for the full two days.

Rey wakes, on the third day, and Poe limps into his old bedroom to see her.

She sits up amongst the pillows, seemingly uncomfortable – but still, his heart clenches at the sight of her in his bed, wrapped in a robe made of silk (the robe open to reveal the intense bindings around her torso), her hair washed and carefully arranged around her shoulders.

“Sunbeam,” Poe whispers, coming to a stop five feet from the bed.

Rey looks at him, and her eyes, already red-rimmed, fill with tears. “I cannot,” she shakes her head. “I thank you for saving my life, but I cannot speak to you. I am afraid of what I might say.”

“Why not?” Poe asks, horrified. “Please, Rey, you can tell me anything.”

“Leave me,” Rey turns away from him, turning to look out the open window. “If you ever cared about me, leave me, and spare me any more of your lies.” Her shoulders tremble from the beginnings of a sob, so Poe obeys her, his heart shattered completely.

**

Rey rests in the room of the prince for weeks. Multiple doctors attend to her, and when they are present, Poe remains a shadow in the door. She stares at him with open hurt for weeks, trying to tell him with her eyes how much his betrayal of trust cost her. The nasty wound on her side might begin to suggest exactly how high that cost was, but the wound in her heart is less apparent.

He does not attempt to talk to her after the first day she awoke after her fever broke, and she told him to leave. Poe listens to her, and stays away; after a while, Rey rather wishes he wouldn’t, if only so she could give him a piece of her mind.

A light knock sounds on her door some six weeks after her injury. The doctors declared her to be fit to travel, if not to ride, and Rey is preparing herself mentally for leaving the palace. She faces the door and pulls her robe – a gift of the royal family, although Poe is the only member she has seen – closer to her body, expecting the doctor.

Instead, a small, beautiful older woman walks in, with a long braid over her shoulder, and a smiling countenance.

“Hello, Rey,” she says, her voice low and throaty, an interesting contrast to the delicacy of her beauty.

Rey’s eyes flit to the ring on the woman’s finger; it bears the crest of Organa.

“Your Majesty,” she says coolly. Leia smiles at her, not sensing the tone, and walks over to settle in the chair next to Rey’s bed.

“You gave us quite a scare,” the queen chuckles. “And, I’ve never seen my son quite so close to perishing.”

“You should have seen him when I pulled him out of the river,” Rey comments. “He’s doing much better, especially as I see he’s been standing again. Good for him.” She turns and looks out the window, trying to indicate she’d rather this conversation end.

“I do not mean his injuries, Rey,” Leia laughs again, a rich sound, and Rey reluctantly looks back at her. “I mean the manner in which he’s responded to your injuries, and your healing. But even when they declared you to no longer be in danger of dying, his anxiety did not truly diminish. Rey, I think that if you do not acknowledge his presence soon and talk to him, he might eventually collapse from a broken heart.”

“I have no reason to talk to your son,” Rey snaps. “I am sorry, Your Majesty, if you came here to intercede on his behalf. But I do not take orders from anyone, even a queen, especially when the order is to forgive a man who spent weeks on end lying to me.” She stares at the woman defiantly; she is a subject of Jakku, and could easily be executed for such a speech. No matter. She will die free, which has long been her only wish.

“I like you,” Leia does not stop smiling. “You save my son, and you have spirit. I think we’ll get along nicely. Now, I can give you a horse, and enough money to fund an entire village for decades in thanks for saving my Poe. But, I could give you something more, if you stayed and saved him one last time.”

“Saved him from what, exactly?” Rey asks, curious to the end.

“From a broken heart.” Leia no longer smiles, and Rey’s own heart twists.

“How could I save him, when my own is broken?” Rey asks, miserably. “Queen Leia, I beg your pardon, but I cannot forgive him, not when he lied to me, not when he hid the truth from me. I cannot trust him. I gave too much of myself to him, and now, there is nothing left. What I gave him feel twisted, and dark, and…” Rey trails off, tears threatening to choke her, and Leia takes her hand over the sheets.

“Say no more,” Leia whispers, her own eyes filled with tears. “Just know – I have spoken to my son, and I know his reasons to hide the truth from you. He did not hide out of anything but concern for your safety. Poe is a good man, and there are few like him in this world. I can say all that as a queen; but as his mother, I can tell you, Poe does not hurt the people he loves. He never meant to hurt you.” Leia excuses herself and leaves Rey with her thoughts.

The implication of Leia’s final intercession – Poe loves her?

One does not lie to the people they love, though. Rey has never been loved, but she knows this.

Rey has never loved, not until Poe – and look what it got her. A sword to the side, and a lance to the heart.

**

Rey leaves today.

Poe stands in the front hall, his heart in such tatters that he knows it will never be full again.

The woman he loves will leave today, and he will never see her again. Not unless he can convince her to stay. But how?

She stands across from him, embracing Leia and smiling. She wears a pretty dress, under a riding cloak, new boots on her feet, and her hair braided carefully. Teedo wears a new saddle and waits patiently at the end of the stairs.

Ben kisses her hand next, and he winks at her while still bowing. Rey rolls her eyes and retracts her hand, winking back at him at the last second. Confusingly, she calls him “Kylo” – how would she know the childhood nickname Poe had given him in their wanderings?

Han embraces Rey as well; the old man is obviously charmed by the wild girl of Jakku, and it makes Poe’s heart hurt even worse to see how well she fits into his adopted family. She could have a home here  - she could stay here- she could –

Leia clears her throat, and as if acting on some unknown cue, his father and brother make their farewells and leave the hall. Leia leaves last, sending a meaningful look at Poe, before she follows her husband through the doors towards the library.

“Is this really goodbye?” Poe asks, into the sudden silence.

“Yes.” Rey walks to the window overlooking the grounds. “I suppose it is.”

“Please, Rey,” Poe clears his throat. “Before you go – I need you to know. I did not tell you the truth of who I am, and I am sorry for it. I thought it was for the best, and I was wrong, I was so very wrong. Everything else I told you was the truth. All of it. I meant everything I said, and I meant every kiss, every time I told you were beautiful, every time I told you how much you should be treasured. It was all true, everything I said and did. So please, do not live your life wondering at the things I did not say, or did not do. You do not deserve that pain, and I am sorry.”

“Thank you for your apology,” Rey says quietly. “I will think of you often, you know, after I leave.” Her back is stiff, and her words are tentative, but something about them gives him hope, hope that he has not felt since she collapsed in his arms. The hope gives him bravery enough to try something.

“Or,” Poe says softly, and she looks at him, cloak drawn around her slender shoulders.

“Or.” Rey says, brow arched.

“Or, you could stay,” Poe whispers. He clears his throat and speaks louder. “Stay, and – and marry me.”

“What?” Rey looks angry, confusingly. “I thought you claimed you did not wish to mock me.”

“I do not,” Poe protests. _God, if I could take back the manner of our meeting I would, but then we may have never met, my love._

“Then why offer me an impossibility,” Rey stares out the large window once more; it was his favorite window of childhood, and to see her stand in it feels _right._ “I am a peasant, I have been found guilty of theft, I have killed men in front of you. Why should a prince want to marry me, and how should he be allowed? I thought princes were to only marry someone of your station. Why would the rule change, for me? Because you feel sorry for me? Because you pity me, and you feel indebted to a peasant?”

 “Is your only objection your belief that I find you inferior? That any would?” Poe asks, and when Rey turns to him, there are tears in her eyes. “I don’t give a damn about being Prince Paolo. I want to be just Poe, with you. With you I _can_ be. And if I am Poe, with you, Rey – I think we could be happy together. If you forgave me. If you found it in your perfect, beautiful heart to forgive me, my sunbeam.”

A tear falls down her cheek. “What will they say when you marry a peasant?” Rey sniffs, refusing to wipe her eyes as she stares him down. It is not a _no,_ and foolish hope courses through him faster than the rapids of a river.

“Let them talk. I do not think they will pay it any mind. My father, the Queen’s consort, was a commoner, after all, and Han is well loved by the people.”

“He was?” Rey asks, curiously, less upset now. “I did not know that.”

“Aye,” Poe laughs. “If I married for love, I would merely be following in Leia’s footsteps.”

“What?” Rey’s eyes widen. “Say that part again?”

“Following in Leia’s footsteps?” Poe repeats, not understanding why she would want to hear that again.

“No,” Rey looks amused at his behalf. “No, the part about the kind of marriage you seek.”

“A marriage for love,” Poe understands now. “Does that surprise you?”

“A little,” Rey says. “You – you love me? You truly do?”

“More than I have ever loved anything on this green earth, my sunbeam,” Poe says earnestly, striding forward. “I know I have not done anything to deserve you, and I owe you impossibly more every day I know you, but I love you. I love you, and I want to make you happy, and I want the chance to earn your forgiveness. So, stay. Stay, and consider marrying me, or at least talking to me again, and I swear to you on all the stars in the sky that I will never lie to you again, and I will treat you each day as though you were the sun itself. If only you give me a chance, I would hope that one day you might grow to care for me as well.”

“That’s just like a prince, to assume things,” Rey snaps, angry again. Poe blinks in confusion.

“I do not assume you would want me, I only mean to say that –”

“Stop misunderstanding me,” Rey says, the anger fading away into something more fond. “I mean – you assume that I will grow to care for you, but I already have.”

Poe feels something akin to a flight of birds made of pure light erupt in his stomach. “You care for me?” He asks, dumbfounded.

“I more than care for you, you twit,” Rey laughs, and just as it had done the first time he heard it, the sound pulls him in, and lights up the entire universe. “I love you. That is why I was so mad at you – I thought you had made me love you under false pretenses.”

“You love me,” Poe repeats, and Rey nods patiently. “And I love you, so…you might want to marry me, one day?”

“Does tomorrow work?” Rey quirks a brow at him. “Because with our record, Poe, we might want to speed up the happy event before one of us actually succeeds in dying.”

“Don’t say that,” Poe says, anxious even through his laughter. He walks to her, arms outstretched, and she allows him to embrace her. “Don’t say that, my sunbeam.”

“Then what can I say?” Rey asks, smiling sweetly at him.

“Say you’ll marry me,” Poe breathes, feeling intoxicated on the power of Rey’s eyes. “Say you’ll let me kiss you again.”

She squints her eyes up, and puckers her mouth as if in deep thought. “Hmm,” she hums playfully before smiling. “Yes.” She nods, and Poe puts his hands on her waits and picks her up, spinning in a circle joyfully. “Yes, I’ll marry you,” she laughs as he lifts her. Her feet land once more on the ground. “And yes, you may kiss me.” Poe obliges, his heart singing so loudly he swears she should be able to hear it.

“I love you,” she whispers, after his lips have left hers.

“And I love you,” he answers. “My sunbeam, my perfect Rey, my hero.”

“Finally!” Leia rushes back in from the library, Han on her heels, looking exasperated. “We thought he’d never get married!” She walks up to Rey, and begins to tug on her cloak. “Now that you’re staying forever, let’s pick out your room and talk about the wedding!” She trundles Rey off, chattering excitedly about how she’s always wanted a daughter, and Rey looks over her shoulder and makes eye contact with Poe, looking startled but amused.

“Good luck,” Poe mouths at her before his face slides into what feels like a permanent smile.

Rey will marry him, he remembers once more, laughing quietly to himself as he walks after his mother and soon-to-be bride. Rey from Jakku will marry the lost prince of Yavin, the younger brother to the future king, and she will lift the house with her, and elevate their lives with her natural, incredible strength and grace. It is far more than he expected when he fell off a cliff and nearly drowned, but he will not question the universe for its strange workings. Not when it has given him this most perfect ending.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woop woop
> 
>  
> 
> Gonna go work on that last epilogue to May the Froth and Having (his) Baby rn, wish me luck!


End file.
